


Rebound

by HappinessIsBlau



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Hatesex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, internal biphobia, kind of?, previous lone wanderer/amata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 02:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappinessIsBlau/pseuds/HappinessIsBlau
Summary: “I think we should see other people,” Amata said, wringing her hands.





	Rebound

**Author's Note:**

> Oookay, some notes first. 
> 
> So there's some intense and honestly really personal stuff here. Cynthia's struggle of having this identity that is frowned upon (it's hard to be gay when the purpose of your home was to study the effects of inbreeding, y'know?) and then having this internal struggle of "OH GOD MAYBE I'M INTO DUDES TOO" is a huge part of her story and it's something I've personally struggled with, so that's why I tagged the "internal biphobia" tag here. I wouldn't really normally go into this much detail but it's really important to me that it gets across, and I hope that explains some of her behavior here. Other than that, it's really just self-indulgent smut, so... yeah.
> 
> Oh, also! Please excuse all of my typos or inconsistencies, I didn't really read this super closely when I posted it, so excuse any leftover writing notes or things like that and feel free to bring them to my attention. And, for the record, this is saved on my laptop as "would butch and cynthia's pairing name be butcyn aka buttsin?"

Butch seemed to revel in his position as Barber, and, as loathe as Cynthia was to admit it, it really suited him. He’d been slicking up his hair with pomade since they were like, 9, so it was only fitting that the GOAT had given him something that he’d be so good at. 

With the few questions it asked and the fact that all of them were bullshit, she figured that Brotch just gave them whatever job he saw fit, with input from the Overseer because, well -- 

She’d ended up in Engineering. Even though she was good at it, everyone knew that she’d take after her dad and be the next vault Doctor. Cynthia knew that the Overseer didn’t want her to have that much power, and he wanted her as far away from Amata as he could get her. 

So, down in the Vault’s lowest level where the reactors were and the lights were low, Cynthia sat every night from 10 pm until 6 am watching the glowing letters on computer screens run scans and checks. Of course, nothing would happen because they weren’t even testing anything -- just checking the status of the machines as they scanned for problems overnight. Her position was completely made up because Alphonse just wanted to fuck with her. 

So she’d quit. 

It was pretty unprecedented in the Vault to quit one’s job because no one had really thought to before. One could ask for reassignment, but she knew that she would never get it. So she’d walked into the Overseer’s office, told him that she was quitting her job, and walked out without another word. 

She went to her dad’s clinic and sat there, watching him and Jonas treat patients and do paperwork until they’d finally let her help with small things at first. In a few months, she was the best nurse that Vault 101 had ever seen. She treated patients with Jonas’s bedside manner and her father’s quick, thorough, and efficient work. 

Maybe it was Amata’s father then that had gotten to her the night that Amata knocked on the door of the quarters that Cynthia shared with her dad and Jonas. Cynthia doubted it, though -- she’d heard pacing on the other side of the door for one thing, and for another, it would be a cold day in hell when Amata actually decided to take the words of their dear Overseer to heart. 

“I think we should see other people,” Amata said, wringing her hands, and Cynthia’s heart dropped. They’d been dating in secret since they were 15, and openly since they were 16. That’s about 4 years of no one else in her life but Amata and Cynthia already knew that she wasn’t interested in guys. 

She didn’t bother to ask why, because when she opened her mouth, Amata cut her off. 

“I’ve been talking to Stevie Mack --” 

Cynthia’s heart dropped. “Stevie Mack? Amata, he’s a fucking psychopath! Seriously? The guy’s fingers twitch every time he sees someone that he thinks might be coerced into fucking him. He’s gonna snap one of these days. I don’t care if you don’t wanna be together, but seriously, don’t fuck around with him!” 

“He’s… I… look, my father said --” “Oh, that’s what this is about?” Cynthia’s heart was beating too quickly and she was seeing red. She’d never been so angry and concerned and knotted up inside because when she spoke, it didn’t sound like her voice, “Alphonse never gave a shit with what was best for you, he just wants to do what’s best for him. If he marries you off to a Mack, it’ll do something for him, that’s it. He won’t care if Stevie hits you, he won’t care if you’re miserable. He just wants something from them!” 

Amata looked like she was going to cry. She turned on her heels, stomped over to the door, and left. 

Cynthia rubbed her face with her hands and sunk to the floor. She couldn’t help but sob, and gosh was she trying to keep it in. 

“Hey, what happened?” 

It was Jonas behind her, half-asleep but still concerned. She shook her head and took a deep breath. Maybe focusing on the tile of the floor would help her to sound less pathetic. 

“Amata broke up with me because she’s been seeing Stevie Mack.” 

She heard a sigh that was unmistakable as her father. She finally picked herself up off the floor, wiped her eyes, and walked over to them. As she thought, they were still pajama-clad. Jonas hadn’t even put on his glasses. 

They sat there on the floor until morning, reassuring her, and she buried herself into her work as deeply as she possibly could. For weeks, she didn’t spend time anywhere except for her bed and the clinic. She ate as little as possible (and only when Jonas or her father pleaded desperately with her) and refused to see people. She wallowed in her misery until she got a royal idea. 

Any kid from Vault 101 knew that Mrs. DeLoria had booze. 

It wasn’t her father’s or Jonas’s way of dealing with anything, but Mrs. DeLoria understood grief. The neverending tide of your insides being pulled out slowly? Yeah, that bitch got it. 

Cynthia didn’t explain herself when she knocked on the door. She knew where Ellen lived, so she just knocked and then strolled in and picked up a bottle. It seemed that Ellen liked the company, even; it wasn’t as if Butch gave her any time of day, anyway. Cynthia wondered how, when he was damn lucky enough to have a mother, he could just ignore her like this? 

\-- 

“You look like hell.” 

It was Butch -- Cynthia opened her eyes and then flinched immediately. The fluorescent lights did no favors for a girl with one hell of a hangover. 

“Why the fuck are you in my apartment? Are you trying to have a drinking contest with my mom? If you wanted to kill yourself, there are way easier and faster ways than pickling your liver. She’s been at this for over fifteen years and she’s still around, so you’ll have to be more committed than this.” 

It was almost endearing how he helped her up slowly. When did she get the glass of water that was sweating in her hand? 

“You’ll feel better if you drink it. I swear it isn’t poisoned,” he laughed at his own joke and Cynthia would have scowled if it didn’t feel so good going down her throat. 

“Why the fuck are you being so friendly?” she spat at him, unable to help herself. It’d been years of them hating each other so what gave him the right to feel bad for her? 

“Jesus, can’t a guy just be decent without being questioned? I figure if they found you dead in here from alcohol poisoning, it would come back to bite me in the ass somehow, so I’ll play nice and help you get back home where your dads can lecture you or whatever good parents are supposed to do.” 

Cynthia rubbed her temples, setting the cup on his coffee table. The bottles that had littered the floor were gone -- as was his mother. 

“I helped her to bed,” Butch explained when he saw her confusion, shrugging as he walked towards an unfamiliar door. He turned to look at her and she felt cold, suddenly. 

His eyes were drawn towards the clock and Cynthia’s followed. It had been five hours since she’d stepped foot into this apartment. Shit, her dad had to be looking for her by now. 

Butch took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the thing. Everyone knows where the vodka goes in here and you smell like a fucking brewery. The least I can do to save myself in this situation,” he pointed an accusing finger at her, “because that’s all I’m fucking worried about, I don’t give a shit about you but I don’t wanna be blamed for this. The least I can do is to fix your fucking hair because it looks terrible, and it’ll give you an excuse as to why you’ve been missing for five hours. So, fuck off if you want, but I’m giving you an out.” 

“Fine.” 

She followed him out of his apartment and down the hall to his little hole-in-the-wall shop where he’d been given a place to cut hair after he passed the GOAT. 

And this brought the whole thing full-circle -- how did Cynthia end up sitting in this chair, Butch’s fingers in her hair? Well, just a bad breakup and a bender, that’s all. 

Butch, breakup, bender -- better than Amata and accusations. 

She snorted at her own joke. Amata, Butch, and Cynthia. The ABCs of Vault 101. 

“Hey, I’m sorry to hear about you and the Princess,” Butch tried quietly. He must’ve mistaken her self-deprecating sound of amusement as a sob or something, she figured. 

“It’s fine,” she replied, not used to him… well, not used to him talking to her like a person and not throwing punches or making fun of her, really. 

“It obviously isn’t when you’ve been schmoozing up to my mom so that you can get drunk for free. Why don’t you just steal that shit your dad uses to sterilize tools? I bet it’d get you fucked up way faster than anything my mom has anyway. They water it down before they give it to her, now.” 

Cynthia didn’t say anything, she just watched in the mirror as he cut the knots out of her hair. He was graceful. She never thought a word like “graceful” or “attentive” or even “nice” could describe Butch DeLoria; the bully that she’d grown up with that tormented her and Amata for literal, actual years. 

He’d called her a dyke, he’d broken her nose THREE TIMES, he’d whistled and pinched and punched and swore at her, and now he was acting like an actual, real, human person? 

What on earth gave him the right to act like everything was normal between them after she’d cried herself to sleep on countless nights for years out of misery that he’d handed to her? 

She had scars and a medical file to prove that he’d never treated her with an ounce of respect, and yet… 

And yet he’d always been authentic with her. 

“Butch,” she said quietly, and he locked eyes with her in the mirror, “don’t fucking bullshit me, Butch. What do you want from me?” 

He made a face at her. 

“No, really. You’ve never been nice to me, like, ever. A month ago, you gave me a black eye and I bruised one of your ribs from kicking you too hard. Why aren’t we beating the shit out of each other? What fucking changed?” Cynthia pulled away from him and he backed off, setting his scissors and comb on the table beside her as she got up in his face, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m a frail little baby who can’t stand to be broken up with, you’ve got another thing coming. I’m just fine,” her voice broke a little on the last syllable, “I don’t need pity from anyone, but especially not you. I don’t need you to feel bad for me…” her hand turned into a fist and she hit him in the chest but there wasn’t any force behind it. She smacked him gently again and again until he caught her hands and held them away from him. 

“Since when were you such a fucking girl?” 

Riiight. Butch and emotion didn’t mix. Either that, or he’d finally given her what she wanted. She’d play the game. 

“Since forever, you asshole. Not that you’d know how to tell.” 

“Yeah? Well, no wonder Amata went looking for someone else. Who the fuck wants to deal with your whiny ass anyway? If you’re done having a fucking moment, get back in that chair so I can finish what I’m doing because I’m not letting you walk out of here looking like that.” 

So she did. And he cut her hair in silence. The only thing she heard was the sound of scissors and the occasional spritz of water as he worked the knots out of her hair. 

It was significantly shorter than it was. She had kept it shoulder length, but now it was more of a bob. That was fine, really. She knew she had enough split ends to make up for the entire Vault anyway, and she usually just cut it herself.

“I’m giving you bangs as revenge for getting mushy on me,” he said, turning her chair so that he could look at her face. 

She stared the collar of his vault suit as he worked. He had his dad’s looks, everyone always said. His mom didn’t look anything like him -- orange haired, light skinned, and sad eyes. Butch was black haired, had much darker skin than his mother but it still wasn’t quite Cynthia’s tone and bright eyes. Fighting eyes. 

Eyes with the devil in them. 

Cynthia knew what it was like to not know one parent. Her dark features were all that she inherited from her mother -- the rest of it was her father through and through.   
She wondered what Butch’s kids would look like. Who would he eventually persuade to marry him? Probably Susie Mack. 

Cynthia almost giggled at the thought. What if he and Amata were in-laws? What if all the Vault babies of the next cycle were all gingers? She figured that Butch’s and Paulie’s dark features would win over the Irishness of the Macks, but with Cynthia’s line ending with her, there’d be a lot of pasty babies in the future. 

“Butch, please don’t have ginger babies,” she said finally. 

“Okay, wow, I thought you’d sobered up but apparently not. What the fuck?” 

“If you and Amata marry Stevie and Suzie, the Vault’s gonna be full of ginger babies.” 

“Why the fuck would I want to marry Suzie? Or Stevie? I’m not even sure which one you’re giving me but they’re fucking crazy. I mean, Wally’s cool, Suzie’s flat as a board, but Stevie? Seriously?” 

“Amata’s fucking him now,” she said quietly. Of course, she didn’t know for sure, but who cares if Butch started spreading that rumor? Maybe it’d make Amata feel bad.

Cynthia didn’t want Amata to feel bad. 

“I … I guess I don’t know that for sure, but I mean, we’re done and she said she was seeing him, so why wouldn’t they be fucking?” 

“Why Stevie?” 

“Her dad. I don’t know how or why or in what capacity.”

“Riiight. All hail the mighty, knowing Overseer. May he bless our rations and tell us who to fuck. What a creep with a capital C.” Butch looked up at the ceiling and scowled as if sending telepathic waves of disapproval to Alphonse, wherever he was. 

At least they agreed on something. 

\-- 

“You’re done. Don’t complain about it if you hate it ‘cause it was free. If you’re sober, go home. I’m sick of listening to you say weird shit and I don’t want to keep pretending like we’re friends.”   
“Now that’s the Butch I know and love. Are you gonna slap my ass when I walk past you and make me break your wrist again?” 

“Aww, but if you do, you’ll have to be the one to set it, and I’ll spill the beans on where you’ve been for the last few hours. Wouldn’t want to make your daddy madder than he already is, would you?” 

Cynthia really did feel better. It wasn’t just the fact that she really had sobered up while sitting in that chair and drinking the water that he’d continued to give her, but the new haircut made her feel ten pounds lighter… like a fresh start, or something poetic like that. 

“Thank you,” she said, and for the first time, she felt like Butch really looked at her. 

“You’re welcome, nosebleed,” he smirked. 

Of course he couldn’t just let them have an actual moment. 

\-- 

She’d started working in the clinic again, but she tried to pace herself instead of wearing herself out. Things were still accomplished quickly and efficiently, of course -- even more so now that she wasn’t rushing headfirst into things. 

Her mind kept wandering back to Butch, though. She’d already finished up her work for the day (and then some) so she took her leave and wandered back to the barbershop. 

Butch was spinning around on one of the hairdressing seats and smoking a cigarette. He blew smoke Os and watched them dissipate in the fluorescent lights. He didn’t stop when she walked in until she pulled the cigarette out from between his lips and took a long drag. 

“Aren’t you afraid you’re gonna get cooties?” he teased, finally acknowledging her. 

“Butch, I’d only be worried about that if you’d ever gotten any in your life. I’m pretty sure that Paulie and Wally are an item, so that doesn’t leave much room for you, does it?” 

“Fuck you. I’ve gotten plenty -- haven’t you heard that Janice and I are close?” 

“Butch, you and Janice have never even stood close enough to each other to speak, not to mention anything else. More gingers, though. Why are there so many damn gingers in this Vault?”

“Heard Stevie say something like that, ‘scept with the letters rearranged a little.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me. No wonder he looks like he wants to beat the shit out of us when we walk past him,” Cynthia snorted. 

“Fuck, poor Paulie. Can’t believe that poor dude wants to marry Wally and deal with that shit. You think the rest of the Macks are like that?” Butch picked his nails and tried to look as disinterested as possible. 

“Nah, not Susie anyway-- wait! So you admit it! Wally and Paulie are totally a thing!” 

“Don’t go telling people that, alright? What do you think the rest of the Vault would say?” 

Cynthia shot him the most withering glare she could possibly manage. 

“Shit, I guess you would know.” 

“Yeah, mostly because you never let me forget it.” 

“Did you ever even give guys a chance?” 

“I already know I’m not interested.”

“How do you know if you never tried?”

“What, are you offering?”

“What? I… no!” 

“Oh, too bad. What better than to make Amata jealous than to have sex with you? She hates you even worse than I do.” 

Butch gave her a long look and then… checked her out. 

She felt her face burn hot as he actually looked her up and down. 

“I… fuck, why would you say that?” 

“I don’t know, it just came out of my mouth! Do you think that I think about things before I say them?” 

“Well, if your daddy is so fucking smart then I would assume so, yeah!”

“Fuck you, Butch.” 

“Fine, why don’t you, then? Seems like you can’t stop thinking about it, and you’ve been saying that for years, so I guess you really must want to, huh?”

“Hey, you were just checking me out!” 

“Well, I couldn’t help it since you made that image pop into my head!”

“Gross! Don’t picture me naked without my permission!”

“I can do whatever I fucking please, doll.” 

The silence was thick between them for a second. 

“It would really make Amata jealous,” Butch conceded, putting out his cigarette with feigned interest in the way the ashes crunched as he snubbed it. 

“And I’m sure you’re just dying to lose that doggone virginity of yours,” Cynthia mocked. 

“I’d be doing you a favor. You’re technically a virgin, too.”

“Oh, ‘cause all Amata and I ever did was braid each other’s hair and swap gossip.” 

“How would that even work, anyway? How do you know that it’s … like … over?” 

“Butch… you are the saddest human being left on this terrible, scorched earth. I bet even the poor, irradiated people living on the surface of this hellhole are having better sex than you and they probably don’t have all their bits.” 

“I just asked a question, jeez.”

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you confess that you’re a virgin.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” 

Would it be hatefucking, she wondered? Maybe. People always said that boys treat you like shit if they liked you. Maybe that’s why she was never interested in boys. Girls are soft, sweet, caring… until they leave you for a prejudiced douchebag because their father told them to. 

That’s what fueled her forward as she pulled Butch out of the chair he was sitting in by his hair and smashed her mouth against his. 

He tasted like cigarettes and cherry kool-ade, she realized. He was taken aback at her suddenness -- maybe he was trying to call her bluff and he wasn’t actually interested? He could back out at any time and she’d lay off, she knew that he knew that (she hoped that he knew that) but he seemed to pick up what she was putting down. Actually, he picked her up and sat her up on the counter behind them, pushing her hair behind her ear and deepening their kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck -- he wasn’t gonna outdo her with this, thanks. 

It was a competition, she realized. He was a virgin but oh, he was a macho man, and he automatically had to be good at sex in his own view. Cynthia had experience -- years of experience, actually, and girls were much more complex creatures than any man, not to mention Butch DeLoria. 

She sucked on his bottom lip until it split and he made a noise against her mouth and moved his hips against hers just so that she gasped. 

He pulled away to smirk at her, licking across his bottom lip where it had split. She pouted at him. 

“You’re a kinky bitch, you know that?” 

“I do, actually. At least I’ve had experience enough to know what I like.” 

He shut her up with a kiss this time. It was wet and eager and he trailed kisses down her chin and to her throat, unzipping her suit and kissing still down her chest and to the start of her breasts. 

She blushed at her ill-fitting bra. The vault was never equipped enough to handle 200 years of buxom women (or buxom women at all, really) so she had to settle for less. Instead of allowing him to futz with the hook, she used his momentary awe (that was good for the confidence) to wiggle out of her suit and unclasp it. 

She threw it across the room with dramatic flair, not really paying attention to where it landed. 

Butch looked like he’d won Casino Night in the cafeteria or something. She could have laughed at the pure look of rewards well reaped on his face when he saw that there were real, actual boobs in front of him. 

She’d decided to play nice. Her hands found his where they were on the counter next to her and brought them to her chest. He held her breasts in his hands and marveled at how soft they were. He brought his mouth to her nipple and sucked. It didn’t do much for her, really -- but she let him have it. 

He bit her gently and she whimpered -- that was more like it. Grinning up at her, he bit hickeys into her chest, making them as mean and purple as he possibly could. Her suit was unzipped halfway down her torso so he unzipped it for her the rest of the way and she kicked it off. It wasn’t fair, really -- her to be sitting on the counter in her underwear and for him to still be clothed, stupid leather jacket and all. She ripped it off of his arms and threw it in the same direction that she had thrown her bra. He protested but gave up quickly when she brought his hands back to her chest. 

“Touching a boob and having sex on the same day? What an amazing day it’s been for you,” she needled as she brought the zipper of his suit down slowly. He gently pushed her hands away so he could do it himself, too busy to respond to her comment. 

It’s not as if he was overly masculine, with his babyface and sour demeanor. It was that, well, of all the men in the Vault, he was the one that she expected was the least likely to screw her over. 

Well, figuratively, but the point still stood. 

As he was stepping out of his suit, she was unlacing her boots and sliding out of her underwear, which was much more difficult than it had to be from her position on the counter. She didn’t want to lay down on the floor, but, desperate times and desperate measures, and all that. 

Actually, wasn’t there a closet in here? 

She jumped off of the counter and walked over to the door that she’d seen when she was last here. Yep, definitely an unused closet. 

Butch followed her. 

“Can you believe I never opened that door?” he asked, and she snorted. 

“If you make one joke about this being a sex dungeon, I’m going to actually leave,” she replied and walked in. He followed her and shut the door, and they were left standing, naked. And cold. One measly motion light filtered a little tiny bit of blue light down on them, but the bulb was in desperate need of repair. 

“It’s good enough,” Cynthia said, her toes cold against the tile on the floor. She wondered if anyone else ever had this same idea in this closet. Probably.

“Lay down,” she instructed, and Butch actually complied without complaint. Well, until his naked back hit the floor and he shivered. 

“Why do I have to be the one laying here? Shouldn’t you be doing that?” 

“Butch, in real life, girls get to be on top.”

He took her word as gospel. She could get used to ordering him around. 

She recalled anatomy. Yeah, that’s a dick. A circumcised dick. Yep. That’s Richard himself. Good old Tricky Dicky. Cotton Eyed--

“Look, I know I’m amazing, but can you get on with this? Please? I’m fucking freezing down here.” 

Right. 

She took a deep breath and straddled him. He sat up on his elbows and watched as she slid him between her lips and to her opening, taking him in slowly. 

Fuck, that felt good. She sat on his lap when he was completely inside of her and she put her hands on his chest. 

“Hold on a sec,” she whispered. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. 

She was in a broom closet on level two of the vault, five inches more personal with Butch DeLoria than she ever thought she’d even fathom being. 

It’d been a while -- her thighs were shaking and this was… warmer, softer, much different than a strap on and Amata. 

Well, Amata was softer than Butch, but the strapon wasn’t. 

She splayed her hands on his chest and picked up a rhythm. He but his lip and watched her bounce, heavy breasts and soft tummy and how had she never noticed how dreamy he was? 

It must be the weird light, she figured, glancing up at the single blue light above them. 

“Hey, um, you still with me?” 

Right. 

“Sorry, just lost in thought.” 

“You probably aren’t doing this right if you’re still thinking,” he teased. She was doing something right though, judging by the way that he was tripping over his words and how he looked oh, so flushed. 

She rolled her hips and he whimpered, laying flat on the cold tile and bringing his hands to her hipbones. 

“That’s what I thought,” she chimed, holding his hands on her hips as she braced herself better and picked up the pace. It wasn’t the cutest, slowest, prettiest fucking that she’d done -- she liked to take it slow with Amata, but she knew that it wouldn’t last long with Butch since he was already overstimulated. 

Speaking of which -- he jerked one of his arms back from her, curled it around his face, and came with half a moan and a shaky breath. 

She huffed, definitely miffed that she hadn’t gotten it and that he didn’t warn her, but it could be remedied. For now, she pulled his arm back, folded his ring finger and pinky back and pressed his index and middle finger into her. He watched, fascinated and coming down from his orgasmic high as she rubbed his thumb against her and fucked his two fingers, still straddling his hips. 

“Add a third,” she purred, and it took him a minute before he got the idea and slowly removed his fingers from her grasp and returned them, plus his ring finger. 

“Rub your thumb in little circles,” she instructed. Again, he listened and watched her. It was amazing how well he took instructions when he was given some sort of initiative. 

His fingers were thicker than Amata’s but so fucking skilled even though he only had half a clue what he was doing. She figured it made sense, with him using his hands for his job and all. She opened her eyes, not noticing that she’d had them closed until now, and the way that he was looking at her with such concentration and attention made her want to cry but instead of the usual drop in her gut it just egged her on even more until she finally came, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand steady as she ground down against it.

“Should’ve brought a camera,” he teased, and she slapped him across the chest, thought about his comment, and then she paled. Glancing up to the corner of the room -- yep, there it was. Every camera in the vault had a direct link to the overseer’s office, too. 

“Fuck,” she and Butch said at the exact same time they heard a gentle knock on the door behind them. 

\--

She’d been sent to bed without dinner like a child. Jonas thought it was hilarious and so did her father, but she knew that her dad had to be the disciplinarian. 

Cynthia thought it was Jonas when her door opened, but it was Amata. Tears in her eyes. Shaking.

Shit. 

“Amata, I’m so sor--” 

“You’ve got to run. Your dad is gone, they’ve killed Jonas… oh God, Stevie killed Jonas, Cyn. You gotta go… you gotta get out of here. They’re gonna kill you, too! Everything they’ve told us is a lie. Your dad left the Vault and you gotta go too or else they’ll kill you. Please…” 

Well, that’s definitely not what she was expecting.


End file.
